Amanda Scott (24 page)

“It has nothing to do with the dog,” Duncan said. The harshness of his expression eased, and he flicked Mary a smile before turning back to Pinkie. “He says he told you about that debt, and that in return, you offered yourself in marriage.”

“He said it like that?”

“Not precisely,” Duncan admitted. “Why did you do it, lass?”

It did not occur to Pinkie to lie to him. She never had. “He said no one would want him when he’s in such a fix,” she said. “He would like Chuff to offer for his sister, but I knew that would never do, and I told him that I’d not aid him in such an endeavor. I suggested that he might have better luck seeking a wealthy heiress for himself. When he said no one would have him with such a burdensome debt hanging over him, I said that I thought any number would—that I would, myself.”

She heard a gurgle of laughter from Mary, but still she did not look away from Duncan.

His dark eyes narrowed. “Did you mean what you said to him, lassie?”

“Aye, sir, I did.”

“Do you think you love him, then?”

Pinkie hesitated. “I do not know, sir. He is kind, and I think…”

When she paused, trying to find words to express thoughts that were less than half formed, Mary said, “I thought you said he was arrogant, Pinkie.”

“He is a nobleman,” Pinkie murmured, for once avoiding Duncan’s gaze. Then, realizing how that might sound, she added hastily, “That is, he is merely—”

Mary cut her off with a chuckle. “I acquit you of wanting him for his rank, love, so I must assume you see his nobility as reason for his arrogance.” Still chuckling, she looked at her husband.

Duncan said, “I don’t know, Pinkie. I think it is not a good notion.”

“Is Kintyre still here, sir? What did you tell him?”

“I said I would allow him to speak to you,” Duncan said. “I made him swear that he will ask you himself if you meant what you told him, and I said he had better not mistake your sentiments. You had better not mistake them, either, lass.”

“No, sir.”

He went on, “I’ll say to you as I’ve said to Chuff, that you may marry where you choose. I would never force you into a marriage you do not want, but neither will I stand by and watch someone else do that. Be sure of him, lass.”

“Aye, sir, I will.”

Bustling into the room, Lady Agnes exclaimed, “I have been looking all over the house for you, Mary, and for you, too, Pinkie, my dear, because surely we shall have callers soon, and I could not imagine where you both had disappeared to. This is our day to be at home, after all, and so I think we should be prepared for an onslaught, for we have been out and about these several days past, have we not? Do you like this gown?” she added, turning her wide hoops with sufficient energy to endanger a nearby side table and the oil lamp that sat on it.

“It is a lovely gown, Mama Agnes,” Mary said hastily before the older lady could catch her breath and continue to speak. “I believe that you have caught your lace on something, however, for there is a ruffle hanging at the back. Do come with me, ma’am, and let me pin it up for you. Unless, of course,” she added with a glance at her husband, “you desire me to remain here with Pinkie, sir.”

“There is no need,” Duncan said. “I agreed to let him speak to her alone.”

Lady Agnes’s eyebrows shot upward. “Him? Alone! What is this? Have I interrupted at an untimely moment? Is some gentleman offering for our Pinkie?”

“Aye, ma’am,” Duncan said, “or so it would appear.”

“But who? Oh, tell me at once, for I dare swear I’ve had no notion that such a thing could be in the wind. Not our Mr. Coombs, I should hope. For I must tell you that although I have seen how he looks at you, my dear, I do not think he is the gentleman you should marry. Too full of himself by half, is Mr. Coombs, but I cannot think who else it could be, for no one has shown you a particularity, and—”

“So I thought, myself,” Mary interjected, taking the older woman firmly by one arm and urging her toward the door through which she had entered. “Come, ma’am, and I shall tell you everything that I know of the matter. Come to me when he leaves, love,” she added, looking back over her shoulder at Pinkie.

Lady Agnes exclaimed, “When he leaves! Bless me, do you mean to say he is in the house even as we speak? Oh, my dear, you simply
must
tell me who—”

The door shut firmly behind them, stemming the rapid flow of words.

Duncan looked ruefully at Pinkie. “Mary will manage her,” he said, “and I will arrange matters so that you and Kintyre are not interrupted, but Dugald will remain outside that door whilst he is in here with you. If you need him…”

“I won’t,” Pinkie said firmly. “Are you vexed with me, sir?”

“Not vexed, lass, just concerned and a trifle bewildered. I have no objection to Kintyre as a husband for you, although I do think you know too little of him to be certain of your heart or your good sense. I just hope he is worthy of you.”

“He is an earl, sir.”

“Aye, and that counts for something. He has land, too, if he can but secure it from his debtor. I’ve asked around, and it seems that once the land is debt free, he ought to be able to make a go of things easily enough, for he is not a gambler like his father was. Indeed, if he can overturn the law of exclusive proprietorship, his deerhounds may well make his fortune for him. However, his estates are isolated, Pinkie, in the western Highlands north of Mull, on a peninsula called Ardnamurchan. ’Twould be a lonely place to live, I fear.”

“I do not require vast companies of people to remain happy, sir, and I do not think you and Mary, or Chuff, will abandon me. Surely, you’d visit occasionally.”

“Very well, then, but know that the matter is not yet settled.”

He left her alone, and although she felt no fear, she was nervous. Her skin seemed to prickle. When last she had seen Kintyre, he had been furious with her for just suggesting that he might consider marrying her. What had changed his mind?

He came in a moment later. She had not sat down, and as she watched him stride into the room, she felt as if her knees might fail her. He looked larger than life, and he had taken pains with his appearance. His demeanor was enigmatic.

“Miss MacCrichton,” he said quietly, “Balcardane has told me that you are still willing to receive my…that is, that you are…” He paused, watching her, then suddenly blurted, “You must be mad to do this!” His cheeks reddened, and he added hastily, harshly, “I should not have said that. Forgive me. I am an ungrateful wretch, and I hope that you can believe me when I say that I am sorry for it.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she said. “Do let us sit down, sir, and talk like sensible people.”

He drew a chair up for her near the fire, then another for himself.

She wished that he had worn his buckskins and boots. When he dressed like a London beau and wore powder, she did not feel the same sense of ease with him. He seemed to sense her discomfort, for he shifted his chair farther back.

She waited.

He grimaced ruefully, then said, “I confess, I never could have imagined myself in this position.”

Surprised, she said, “You never expected to offer for a lady’s hand, sir?”

Amusement lit his eyes, and she realized that she ought not to have mentioned his intention before he did. Such delicate niceties seemed silly under the circumstances, however.

He said, “I did expect to make someone an offer eventually. That’s the point. No, don’t speak,” he added when she opened her mouth. “Before we discuss marriage, I have something else I must say. Thursday morning I was unforgivably rude to you. You meant only kindness, I know, and I behaved like a brute.”

“Aye, you did,” she agreed, drawing another smile from him. She liked it when he smiled. He did not seem so much like a stranger. “I cannot blame you for your vexation, sir. I know I stepped over the line, saying what I did.”

“Perhaps,” he said, showing that remorse had not softened his blunt nature. “In any event, I do apologize for behaving as I did, when you meant only kindness. Pray, say that you can forgive me, Miss MacCrichton.”

“Willingly, sir,” she said.

“Then, if you are still inclined to accept my hand in marriage, you will make me the happiest of men.”

He looked earnest, even sincere; and, failing to stifle an involuntary chuckle, she said ruefully, “Now I must apologize, sir. A lady ought never to laugh when a gentleman makes her an offer of marriage. Still, when you speak of being the happiest of men, I cannot help but recall how outraged you looked on Thursday.”

“Well, in truth, I can make you no promises of happiness,” he said. “I did promise Balcardane that I would make certain you had not changed your mind, however, and I hope that you have not, but we must leave the rest to Fate. I can promise that if you accept me, I will do my best not to disappoint you.”

“No woman should ask for more, sir, and I can be content with that. Have you discussed settlements with Himself yet?”

“With Balcardane?” Again laughter sprang to his eyes.

“Aye. I know I am being indelicate again to mention them. They seem to fall within that arcane realm known as men’s affairs, but since your need is pressing, perhaps you should not delay. You did tell him about your debt already, I know.”

“Aye, and we have discussed the settlements,” he said. “I promised to settle as much land in your name as I shall settle on my sister, so in time each of you will own one third of Mingary’s forest lands. In return, Balcardane disclosed to me that your fortune is a good deal larger than I had any right to suppose.”

“I expect it will become more yours than mine, sir. I know how financial matters generally work between husband and wife.”

“So does your guardian, lass. You will retain control over a sufficient amount so as never to be entirely dependent upon your husband. Balcardane insisted upon that, and I quite easily agreed with him.”

She was surprised. “I shall have money all my own?”

“You will.”

“And you will still have enough to repay Sir Renfrew Campbell?”

“Aye, although a portion of that will come from Balcardane and your brother, if he’s willing, and I will repay them in due time.”

“Would it not be better to use more of mine and repay the whole at once?”

“Nay, lass. I’ve my dignity to consider as well as yours, and I’ve no wish to be so heavily beholden to you or to take more from you than I should. Balcardane is willing to advance me the additional sum I require, and since Sir Renfrew Campbell is here in London, I need only draw on Balcardane’s London accounts and hand the money to Campbell. I had wondered how I could manage to get it to him in the allotted time,” he added, “since both my banker and his are in Edinburgh.”

She smiled. “I think your sister does not count Sir Renfrew’s presence here in London an advantage, sir.”

“I dared not intervene too aggressively whilst I remained indebted to him. Now, however, I will insist that his unwanted attentions to her must cease.”

Silence fell between them, and Pinkie could think of nothing more to say. She wanted to ask questions—about Bridget, about his home in Scotland, about his hopes and plans for a family—but she felt that she should not do so, not yet.

When he stirred as if to take his leave, however, she blurted, “When must we wed, sir?”

“Must?” He frowned. “I thought you were willing.”

“I am, sir, wholly willing. I meant only—in view of the debt, you know—that you cannot afford to delay long before the ceremony.”

“Not long, no, particularly since none of the money comes to me until after we are wed. If you agree, however, I shall purchase a special license this afternoon and arrange the ceremony for Saturday. That will give you time to make whatever arrangements you want to make, and still allow me a week to repay Campbell.”

She swallowed. Even recognizing his haste, she had not thought the wedding would be so soon, but all she said was, “Where?”

“I thought you would like to be married from this house,” he said.

“Oh, yes, I would. I know it has become the fashion here to marry in church, and we have attended Sunday services each week, of course, but I would much rather have the ceremony here at the house.”

“Then so it shall be. As to my future plans, other than to repay Campbell as soon as may be convenient to everyone involved, I have made none. My cousin’s house is small, but I believe that we can all live comfortably with her until we return to Scotland, which my aunt hopes to do sometime in mid-June. I must warn you, though, that I cannot offer you a bedchamber of your own in George Street unless my sister will agree to share one with my aunt or with Cousin Bella.”

Everything had happened so quickly that she had not thought about moving out of Faircourt House. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest that he could as easily move in there as remove her to his cousin’s house, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. He still retained full responsibility for his sister, and a duty to look after his aunt and cousin, as well. She knew that wives frequently slept with their husbands, but it had not occurred to her that she would sleep with Kintyre. It occurred to her now with full force.

“I…I do not think you should ask your sister to move, sir,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact when she felt anything but. The notion of marriage—to Kintyre—was taking on a new light Lest he again think her forward, she added hastily, “Lady Bridget has not been particularly friendly to me, nor is there reason that she should be. I do not wish to cause her distress if I can avoid doing so.”

“Bridget will do as she is bid,” Kintyre said evenly.

“I have no doubt that she will obey you, sir. I fear I was thinking only of myself. I will feel far more comfortable if Lady Bridget has no cause for upset.”

“You are praying for a miracle, then, but it shall be as you wish,” he said. Standing, he extended a hand to her. “Shall we go now and tell the others?”

“Aye.” She put her hand in his, and warmth stirred deep within her when his closed snugly around it.

He drew her gently to her feet, and they went to find Balcardane and Mary.

For the next three days, time seemed inconsequential to Pinkie. She went where others told her to go, stood where they told her to stand, and dressed as they told her to dress. Had she been asked a week later what social events had enjoyed her presence during that time, she could not have answered with certainty. Only two events stood out in her mind. One was dancing with Kintyre on Friday night at Lady Molyneux’s ball, and the other was that first evening at dinner when Chuff learned of her intention to marry.